Hobe $oemo of a 
polyglot ^>c!)oolma^ter 


&alei£jl) Conner 















C-opyriglii N°_ Q_ ■_ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 


























LOVE POEMS OF A 
POLYGLOT SCHOOLMASTER 
RALEIGH BONNER 



Boston: The Gorham Press 
The Copp Clark Co., limited 


TORONTO 







Copyright 1911>by Raleigh Bonner 
All Rights Reserved 


Yd 



The Gorham Press, Boston , U. S. A. 

JUN id Idi4 

©CL A 3 74487 
( 






Dedicated to 


My only Love 















Ich wollt’ im Deutschen meine Liebe singen, 

Es wollte mir nun aber niclit gelingen; 

Wie Kriegesrufe alle Worte klangen, 

In voller Rlistung wie Soldaten prangen 
Sie alle, wie auf Wache, auf Parade, 

In Reih’ und Gliede, dumm und kerzengrade. 

Alors j’ai essaye la langue des Frangais, 

Mais dans tant de difficultes je m’enfongais, 

Que j’ai du renoncer a mon idee folle. 

Cette langue est trop faible, monotone et mode, 
Faisant rever a une grisette au Quartier, 

Qui boit de l’absinthe et qui dort dans un grenier. 

What could I do? To good old English I returned, 
The language I at first for French and German 
spurned, 

The language that the greatest poets e’er have 
used, 

In which the rugged strength of Anglo-Saxon, 
fused 

With all the grace and charm and wit of Norman- 
French, 

Is unsurpassed for love and war, pulpit and bench. 


5 


Ich gehe jeden Tag an deinem Haus 
Vorbei, und schau’ sehnsiichtig nach dir aus; 
Ich seh’ dich aber nie, und Liebesschmerz, 
Erbarmungslos, ergreift mein armes Herz. 

Nach einer langen Trennung, endlos fast, 
Die du in Qual verbracht, ich ohne Rast, 
Seh’ ich dich morgen wieder! Armes Herz, 
Kann ich nicht heilen deinen Todesschmerz? 

O wende nicht von mir dein Angesicht! 

Es leuchtet dir entgegen helles Licht 
Der Liebe! Folge willenslos dem Trieb 
Des Herzens; lieb’ mich, Herz, wie ich dich 
lieb\ 


To a girl who wrote that an “optimist sees the 
doughnut , while a 'pessimist sees hut the hole. ” 

Du sprichst, mein Herz, vom Loch? 

Vom Loche hor’ ich gern, 

Und seh’ es lieber noch, 

Von nahe und von fern. 

Sei Du ein Optimist, 

Nimm Du mein “Doughnut ” doch; 

Ich bin ein Pessimist, 

Gib mir, gib mir dein Loch! 


6 


De l’amour avant tout, 
Car lui seul il resout 
Tout penible probleme, 
A mesure qu’on aime. 

De l’amour avant tout, 
Car de tout il absout, 
Sauf du crime supreme 
De trahir ce qu’on aime! 


Pendant que tout sommeille 
Autour de moi, 

Je veille, moi, je veille, 

Et pense a toi. 

Et tout d’un coup mon ame 
S’echappe et fuit, 

Et comme un trait de flamme 
A toi s’unit. 

Tout seul au lit alors 
D’amour s’enivre 
Mon pauvre, pauvre corps, 
Et veut la suivre. 


7 




A ma cousine germaine , que je ne peux pas epouser. 

De tous les temps des grands esprits 
J’ai savoure les beaux ecrits; 

J’ai goftte meme en polisson 
De cent plaisirs des sens, ma chere, 

Et jamais de leur joie am ere 
Je n’ai perdu le souvenir; 

J’ai admire des galeries 
De tous les arts: pierreries, 

Tableaux, statues, faiences de Chine, 

Et sur mon a me toute emue 
La paix celeste est descendue. 

Envoi 

Je donnerais tout, 6 ma cousine, 

—Passe, present, et avenir, 

Pour voir qu’un amoureux frisson 
Crispe ton coeur et corps benits. 


8 


To a girl who sent strawberries as symbols of 
kisses. 


Seul dans ma chambre, aux caprices 
Livre des desirs impudiques, 

Je suce et mange avec delices 
Tes belles fraises bucoliques. 

Refrain 

Allons aux bois cueillir des fraises, 
Sur le gazon etendons-nous; 

J’ai soif, j’ai soif d’un baiser doux, 
Je veux, je veux que tu me baises! 


Je t’aime tant, 6 ma pucelle, 

Comme un homme ardent, vif, viril, 
Ni senile ni pueril, 

Doit toujours aimer une belle. 

Comme Daphnis baisa Chloe, 

Ou Salomon la Shulamite, 

Ou bien Adonis Aphrodite, 

Ou le roi David Bethsabe: 

Par de tels baisers symboliques, 

Sans que jamais tu en gemisses, 

Je voudrais de toi les premices 
De longues jouissances uniques. 

Envoi 

O Dieu, qui fus d’une pucelle 
Le fils, benis, Toi, nos amours, 

Et, apres la fin de nos jours, 
Donne-nous la vie eternelle! 


9 


Les bruits courant sur notre compte, 
Tous ces “on dit” et “savez-vous” 
Des droles qui parlent de nous, 
Veux-tu que seul je les affronte? 

Ne penses-tu qu’a ton mecompte, 

Et fais-tu tant de cas de tous 
Ces contes bleus d’un tas de fous? 

En as-tu peur? En as-tu honte? 

Oil es-tu? Que fais-tu? Reviens! 
Je ne puis me passer de toi! 

II me tarde tant de te voir! 

Malheureuse! ne te souviens- 
Tu de tes voeux d’amour pour moi? 
Ou ne veux-tu plus me re voir? 


LE TRAITRE 

Tu nies ton amour? D’une vive douleur 
Mon pauvre coeur se sent envahir, qui le serre, 
Comme si encore une fois un lache Pierre 
Au chant du coq, reniait trois fois son Seigneur. 


10 


LE BAISER 


Seul au pavilion, avec la petite Alice, 

Par une apres-midi froide et claire d’automne, 

Je lui demandais avec instance l’aumone 
D’un baiser dans ce lieu solitaire et propice. 

Ne pouvant plus supporter le cruel supplice 
D’un ref us obstine de sa bouche mignonne, 
Malgre sa resistence, j’y mis la couronne 
De l’amour: un baiser ardent, plein de delice. 

Et puis, le sang en feu, l’etreignant sur mon cceur, 
Je l’embrassai cent fois, defaillante de peur; 

Elle me traita de lache et d’homme sans foi, 

Mais moi, l’embrassant toujours, je murmurai bas: 
“Ne resistez plus, je ne vous lacherai pas, 

Car, vous savez, l’amour ne connait pas de loi.” 


11 


SOUPIRS D’AMOUR 


Mignonne, ecoute, ecoute, ma chere, 
Cherie, ecoute done ma priere, 

C’est moi qui frappe a ta porte, ecoute! 
M’entends-tu? Tu m’entends, sans nul 
doute! 

Leve-toi done, ouvre-moi ta porte, 

C’est l’amour, c’est l’amour que j’ apporte, 
C’est l’amour, je te dis, c’est l’amour, 

Je te l’apporte en vrai troubadour. 

C’est l’amour vrai, l’adoration pure, 
L’instinct tout-puissant de la nature; 
Ouvre-moi done, dans ce lieu agreste, 

Le portail de l’empire celeste! 

/ 

Ecoute-moi done, cherie, ecoute! 

Qu’est-ce done que tout cela te coute? 

Le don de ta chair t’est-il trop cher, 

Pour sauver mon ame de l’enfer? 


12 


Comme Acteon, chasseur profane, 
Sous les buissons d’un beau rivage, 
Ne se souciant point de sa rage, 
Voulait voir se baigner Diane, 

Ou plutot comme Endymion, 
Bravant la foudre vengeresse, 
Voulait se faire une maitresse 
De toute-puissante Junon, 

Ainsi, en depit des alarmes, 

Je ne crains pas, moi, ta vengeance; 
J’aurai, deesse, la demence 
De vouloir posseder tes charmes. 


Dans son etrange livre, 

Le fameux Rabelais 
Parle d’un couvent libre 
Ou regne la loi: “Fais 
Tout ce que tu voudras; 
Dans ce lieu de l’esprit 
Libre tu le pourras, 
Comme au saint paradis. ” 
Ce couvent, ce saint lieu, 
Je l’ai trouve, Cherie; 
C’est chez toi que la vie 
N’aura plus de tristesse; 
Tu y seras ma deesse: 

Y serai-je ton dieu? 


13 



J’ai lu dans la Bible un bel apotheme, 

Debite par un habile laboureur, 

Qui essuyait de son front la sueur, 

En disant qu’on recolte ce qu’on seme. 

Mais j’en doute, moi, depuis que je t’aime; 
Qu’il n’ait tort, ce bonhomme, j’ai bien peur; 
Car j’ai seme de 1’amour sur ton coeur, 

Et je devrais le recolter de meme. 

Quand je veux toucher au fruit, “anatheme!” 
Tu me dis, “n’y touche pas, mon malheur 
Et le tien suivront de pres ton bonheur. ” 

Et tes paroles m’amenent au blaspheme. 


14 


L’IMPASSE 


II me faudrait la sagesse supreme 
De ce grand Polygame Salomon, 

Ou de ce grand Misogame Platon, 

Por resoudre de mon coeur un probleme. 

Si, sans un rayon d’espoir, moi, je t’aime, 
C’est mon malheur! Que tu me fasses don 
De ton coeur, tu demandes, a quoi bon? 

Ca ne serait que ton malheur de me me. 

C’est moi que de deux cotes le malheur 
Menace et jour et nuit de la sueur 
De l’angoisse me baigne la figure; 

Car la vie est sans toi vraiment trop dure, 
Et, plutot que ton malheur, Dieu permet 
Le recours a un coup de pistolet. 


THE LOVER’S PRAYER 

Our Father, Thou who art 
Forever everywhere, 

I pray Thee, guard Sweetheart 
From sorrow, pain, and care. 

Amen. 


15 


TO A GIRL NICKNAMED “FLIT” 

You darling Flit, Flit, Flit, 

Stop flitting through my mind; 

It’s not a bit, bit, bit 
Conventional or kind. 

I wish to work, work, work, 

And I begin to grind; 

But with a quirk, quirk, quirk 
You’re flitting through my mind. 

I need to sleep, sleep, sleep: 

No restful sleep I find; 

You flit so deep, deep, deep 

Through my subconscious mind. 

You darling Flit, Flit, Flit, 

Stop flitting through my mind; 

It’s not a bit, bit, bit 
Conventional or kind. 


10 


I hate the Christian creed, 

Its self-renunciation 

Of every fleshly need, 

Its menace of damnation. 

Not thus speaks nature’s God— 
The God of all creation; 

Above, beneath, the sod 
Is life and procreation. 

For life in nature’s state 
Seeks but the high elation 

Of mating with its mate, 

And recks not confirmation 

By any man-made rites; 

But in a Christian nation 

Who uses nature’s rights 
Is damned for fornication. 


17 


No life-long love that’s sheltered in the breast, 
By state and church alike in wedlock blessed. 
Is worth one single minute of the hour 
Exposed to reckless, lawless passion’s power. 

And so I wish for you no peaceful love, 

No billing-cooing of the turtledove, 

Secure within the dovecote’s sheltered nest, 
Not tempted, never put to stormy test; 

But love, storm-tossed as in the eagle’s nest. 
Upon some bleak and rugged mountain crest, 
Mid flash of lightning, lash of wind and pour 
Of blinding, whirling rain and tempest’s roar. 


18 


I think of you the livelong day, 

And in the sleepless hours of night, 

In idleness, in work and play. 

My thoughts soar like the winddriven kite, 
And heed not clouds in dark array, 

Nor tempest’s peal and zigzag light. 

I think of you in school and home, 

In pleasure, sorrow, pain and strife, 

In light and darkness, dawn and gloam; 

You are my all, my light, my life! 


I sowed the seeds of love 

On your fair heart; above 

The living soil I saw 

Them sprout; without a flaw 

They grew apace, caressed 

By love’s warm breath, and blessed 

By smiles and tears, until 

The full-blown flowers fill 

My soul with fragrance sweet 

And make my joy complete. 

The future has no fears 
For me, nor bitter tears, 

For in these flowers lie 
New seeds, which cannot die. 


19 



TO A GIRL WHOSE FATHER DIED 


Though my heart beats in sorrow to your own, 
And my tears flow for you, to soothe your grief 
My sympathy is vain. Battling alone 

With your supreme distress, without relief 

Save from your God, may soothing faith in Him 
And His plain promise of eternal life 
Beyond the grave now comfort you and dim 
Your grief and make you victor in the strife. 


The mighty Caesar once expressed 

His views on death: “That death were best 

Which least expected came,” he cried; 

And Fate decreed that thus he died. 

Not thus would I that Fate decide 
My hour; in death I would abide 
With thee, my head upon thy breast, 

And sleep and rest, and sleep and rest. 


20 



In Sweetheart’s eyes twin cupids dwell, 
And play and laugh and sing and dance, 
And seize upon each passing chance 
On loving hearts to cast their spell. 

Then armed with sharpest barbed darts 
They play and laugh and sing and dance, 
And, wanton sport but to enhance, 

They pierce and rend the throbbing hearts. 

They pierce and rend the throbbing hearts, 
Their wanton sport but to enhance, 

And then, without a pitying glance, 

They throw away the bloody parts! 


I gave you all I had to give: 

My love. I had not wished to live 
If by my death I could but serve 
You,—longing, thirsting to deserve 
A glance of love’s beatitude. 

To cheer me in my solitude. 

And you accepted what I gave 
As worship due, and if the grave 
Had closed o’er me, who knows? You might, 
Perhaps, have gazed upon that sight 
As calmly as the rest, without 
A sign of love, regret, or doubt. 


21 



I am so sad tonight, so deathly sad, 

So all alone in deep despairing gloom, 

As if my heart could never more be glad; 

And ghosts of my dead joys before me loom. 
And in my soul they change the good to bad, 
The bad to good, and draw me in their tomb. 


Why should I doubt you? Doubt belies 
The lovelight shining in your eyes; 
Though veiled in maiden-pride it lies 
Concealed, it flashes, still, replies 
As promising as summer skies, 

When o’er the hills the sunbeams rise. 

And so my love for you defies 
All doubts and lies and prying spies. 
What care I, then, whoe’er denies 
You love me, Dear? whoe’er decries 
My love for you? My heart relies 
Upon the message of your eyes. 


22 



Sweetheart, I love you, love you! Day and night 
My thoughts and dreams are all of you. The 
sight 

Of your loved face, the sound of your dear voice, 
Forever with me, make my heart rejoice. 

My heart goes out to you in boundless love. 

In all-absorbing tenderness; above 
All selfish longings, its sublimity 
Partakes of God’s love, of divinity. 


TO A FLOWER 

Poor withered flower, yesterday full-blown, 
Today thy wondrous bloom and fragrance flown, 
Where now’s thy sensuous vitality, 

Thy erstwhile dream of immortality? 

Fit symbol thou, poor faded, drooping thing, 

Of beauty, joy and love, admonishing: 

All these, like life itself, too soon are sped, 

And you and they w ill be a long time dead! 


SEPTEMBER MORN 


My Lady’s tawny eyes 
Have glints of burnished gold, 
Just like the northern skies 
When autumn’s sun grown cold; 
And, like the northern skies, 
The golden light they hold 
Is of the arctic cold, 

That warmth and love defies. 

My Lady’s dusky hair 
Affords a contrast bold 
With noble brow so fair, 

And amber eyes so cold; 

As when, through autumn air, 
Night’s sable wings enfold 
The setting sun so fair 
In silver and in gold. 

’T would tax a poet’s choice, 

By Grecian muse controlled, 

To paint my Lady’s voice, 

In symbols true and bold; 

As misers’ hearts rejoice 
When silver strikes on gold, 

So at my Lady’s voice— 

So soft, and clear, and cold. 

My Lady’s lovely form, 

Of truest Grecian mold 
Is the most perfect norm— 

So noble, firm, and bold; 

’Tis Galatea’s form, 

So stately, marble-cold, 

For passion to transform, 

As in the days of old. 

24 


To a girl ivho said that she had nothing to wear 
to a masked hall exce/pt black gloves and stockings. 

I dreamed of you last night, Sweetheart; undressed 
As Eve before she knew the serpent’s snare 
You stood, brown eyes aglow, your soft dark hair 
Unloosed on snowy neck and flutt’ring breast. 

Sweet lips apart, and said, in mocking jest, 

“You see, my Dear, I’ve not a thing to wear 
Except black gloves and stockings, just one pair, 
And black, y<5u know, I simply just detest.” 

I sought to clasp you to my heart, but you. 
Eluding me, instead a pillow thrust 
In my encircling arms, and mockingly 

You said: “Dear Billy, won’t the pillow do?” 

And thus I woke, alone, and raved and cussed, 
And suffered torments like Saint Anthony. 


25 


MON CRI DE GUERRE 


Je t’aime, aime-moi! 

Voila mon cri de guerre. 
Entends-le sans effroi, 
Mais non pas, je Fespere, 
Sans quelque peu d’emoi. 
Je m’en servais naguere 
Legerement, sans droit, 
Et quelquefois, ma chere, 
Mon amoureuse foi 
Etait bien ephemere; 
Mais je ne sens pour toi 
Qu’un amour tres sincere, 
Je ne sens que pour toi 
I n amour tres sincere. 

Je t’aime, aime-moi! 

C’est mon cri de guerre, 
Mais, adresse a toi, 

Ce n’est qu’une priere; 

Ce n’est qu'une priere 
Quand je l’adresse a toi: 
Je t’aime, aime-moi! 


26 


ROSEBUD AND BEE 


Buzzing “ah’s,” buzzing “oh’s”— 
“Thou art lovely, Sweetheart,” 
Said the Bee to the Rose, 

“ I adore thee, Sweetheart. ” 

Said the Rose to the Bee 
With a blush and a start, 

“Oh, I pray, let me be, 

For I know what thou art. ” 

Buzzing “ah’s,” buzzing “oh’s”— 
“Put thy petals apart,” 

Said the Bee to the Rose, 

“I would kiss thy dear heart.” 

Said the Rose to the Bee 
With a blush and a start, 

“I believe what I see, 

And I see thy sharp dart. ” 

Buzzing “ah’s,” buzzing “oh’s”— 
“Do not fear, thou, my smart, 

I am not of thy foes. 

For I love thee, Sweetheart.” 

Said the Rose to the Bee 
With a blush and a start, 

“Thou art lying to me, 

Oh, I pray thee, depart!” 

Buzzing “ah’s,” buzzing “oh’s,” 
Mr. Bee plied his art, 

Till his pose and his gloze 

Quite seduced Rosebud’s heart. 


27 


Buzzing “ah’s,” buzzing “oh’s,” 
He then pierced her poor heart. 
And so left her her woes, 

—With her petals apart. 


WHAT TO DO WITH LOVE-LETTERS 

What shall I with your letters do? 

Return them every one to you? 

Or would you that I burn them, Dear, 

That you have nothing left to fear? 

Or to a heavy stone bind them 

And sink them where none could find them, 

Out in the bay, from some big boat? 

I know! I’ll feed them to the goat 
In Central Park, or in the Zoo, 

And he’ll digest them all for you. 


28 


THE DEVIL IN LOVE 


I pity the driveling devil, 

Whom everyone loves to berate; 

He’s doomed by decree of grim fate, 
With soul-mates in Hell to revel. 

For me, I must say, on the level, 
That’s really a devilish state, 

With bodyless maidens to mate, 
Whose morals on Earth were bevel. 

But I would not seem to be shoddy, 
For I am content, on the whole; 

If I can but have the live body, 

The devil may take the dead soul! 


29 


LOVE’S CATECHISM 


What is love? whence comes the name? 
—Love is lust, in every tongue: 

Greek and Latin, Hebrew, too, 
Sanskrit, Arabic, Hindoo, 

Turk, Chinese and French, among 
Languages, attest the same. 

But, whence comes this love, and why? 
—Love is life itself, for life, 

To cheat death, must recreate; 

Thus, to love is but to mate. 

That is why in daily strife 
Males engage, and kill, and die. 

Is there, then, no higher love? 

—Not between the sexes, no! 

They deceive you who profess 
No deep longing to possess 
Bodily, on Earth below, 

Bodily, in Heav’n above. 

Sentiment and tenderness, 

Altruism, what! are these 
But delusions and a snare? 

—Yes! though these exist, ’t is their 
Being, just the same, to please. 

Win, and in the end, possess. 

If love cease to hope, what then? 

—Love that hopes no longer, dies; 

But, just like the bird, by name 
Phoenix, which by inner flame 
Is consumed, ’tis but to rise 
Born anew, to love again! 


30 


LOVE’S SYMBOLISM 


I walked through wooded land and lea, 

’Mid flowers, plants and trees galore. 

And stopped at last, amazed, before 
A young and tall and stately tree; 

So straight of limb as tree can be, 

It was, I saw, a Sycamore; 

One fruit with fig-like leaf it bore, 

Exposed to view and fair to see. 

Enrapt I pushed aside the leaf 
And was about to pluck the fruit, 

But stayed my hand, and strained my ear 

A soft, sweet Dryad’s voice to hear, 

Which said—although ’tis past belief—: 
“Wouldst take my all by force, you brute?” 


31 


OCEANS OF LOVE 


Said the Spirit of Love: “Do not complain, 

If your love, in such changing proportions, 

Is so rent by conflicting emotions 
Of carnal and spiritual joy and pain; 

For subject to moods great love must remain, 
Like the ebb and the flood of great oceans, 

From recurring celestial commotions 
And terrestrial storms of wind and rain. 

And just as the shallower streams and pools 
Are protected from both these distractions 
In the valley’s calm in which they have slept, 

So it is with shallow, phlegmatic fools, 

Who speak of your love with base detractions: 
They know not its great length and breadth and 
depth. ” 


WHY I LOVE YOU 

Do you ask me why I love you? 

Ask the zephyr why it bloweth; 

Ask the beautiful fox-glove, too, 

Why its hand-like form it groweth; 

Ask the heaven far above you 

Why it raineth, shineth, snoweth— 
God alone these things He knoweth, 
And doth know just why I love you. 


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